


Getting The Old Band Back Together

by daynight



Series: Telegraph Avenue [5]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 05:11:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3434810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daynight/pseuds/daynight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Easy Company Troopers is reforming. The other band members just don't know it yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getting The Old Band Back Together

**Author's Note:**

> No offence meant to real men- based on TV depictions. Don't own characters.

**PERCONTE**

There he was, looking adorable in a little blue pair of shorts; whistling to himself tunelessly as he traipsed up the road, bag bouncing on his hip and cheery smile on his face. Frank Perconte, jolly neighbourhood mailman, formerly the exuberant drummer of ‘Easy Company Troopers’. It was quite the transformation.

 Liebgott realised that he probably looked incredibly suspicious, a shaded man dressed all in black practically stalking an unaware mailman down the street on a sunny morning. He wasn’t trying to be intentionally creepy, just subtle. It wasn’t his fault that Frank was so oblivious to his surroundings. After about ten minutes of trailing him, Liebgott decided to give up on the ruse, eying the ignorant, bouncing figure about 15 feet in front of him with weary annoyance. This was taking far too long and it was just getting silly.

He jogged forward, catching up with Perconte and yanking out his ear bud. It dangled down, blasting a thrashing drum-beat.

“Frank!”

“What the fuck!” Frank almost fell backwards in shock, dropping the letters in his hands. He quickly recovered, picking up his mail, his surprise melding into pleased disbelief.

“Liebgott?” Liebgott grinned in response. Damn, it was good to see him. Perconte’s face also dissipated into a smile, embracing Liebgott excitedly. “What the hell man! You can’t just go sneaking up on a guy like that!” He drew away and looked Liebgott over. “Shit, you haven’t aged a day! You keep an ugly old painting of yourself up in Nix Records?”

“Naw, I’m just genetically blessed.” Perconte’s eyes darted down the street.

“Have you been following me?”

“Maybe.”

“That’s weird dude.” Liebgott shrugged genially.

“Maybe you should start lookin’ around yourself a bit. There are bad people about.”

“Like you?” Liebgott spluttered a laugh, stifling the urge to get out a cigarette. He had to make this quick, before Frank went on his merry way.

“You know I’m a good guy deep down. Anyway, I got somethin’ to ask you.”

“You can’t borrow any money.” Why did everyone think he wanted something from them? He didn’t know how he had been giving off that impression. He considered messing with him, asking for a loan, but decided against it. Time to dive right in. He took a deep breath and went for it.

“I want to start the band up again.”

Perconte’s forehead wrinkled.

“I’m a mailman now, Joe. And I thought all that stuff was over with. Weren’t you the one who said it was?”

“Yeah, me or maybe Nixon.”

“Nixon is okay with this?”

“We talked about it. He wants to.” Perconte looked surprised. Liebgott had been too, but then Nixon was always unpredictable. Perconte palmed his forehead, a mixture of apprehension and excitement playing on his features.

“Shit, Joe. This is …What about the other guys?” Liebgott smirked in a way that got the easy going Perconte smiling too.

“That’s where I need your help. Can’t do it without you, Perco.” Perconte scuffed his shoe on the pavement, looking away.

“It won’t be easy.”

“Nothing ever is. So you want in or what?” Perconte hesitated, then let his face break out into a kiddish beam.

“As long as I can go back to being a mailman when this all inevitably goes to shit. I love this job.”

“But you love the band more?”

“You know I do. Damn near broke my heart when we split.” Laughing with relief, Liebgott pulled a laughing Perconte into a spine-cracking hug.

One down, two to go. 

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

**LUZ**

Perconte was lying lazily on Liebgott’s bed, feet up on the wall, dark blue bedspread bunched around his head. He stared out into the small, disorganised room, the walls plastered with old band posters, two black bass guitars and an amplifier in the corner.

“I can’t believe you still live here, man. So many memories.” Liebgott flashed him an amused grin. He was leafing through his old band keepsakes, spending time chilling with Frank and reminiscing about the good old times. He was in a great mood. Babe, working downstairs in the shop, had even remarked that the last time he had seen him so happy was when Skinny Sisk tripped over at the coffee shop and spilled Babe’s mocha latte all over himself. Liebgott continued rifling until he found what he was looking for.

“Check this out dude.” He passed a small, glossy photo, taken with one of those disposable cameras, to Frank. It was the only photo of the band that had been put out to the press. All of them, together, drinking and laughing, dressed up in army uniforms after a show in San Francisco. Perconte barked out a laugh.

“Oh my god! My hair…your hair!” Perconte sighed deeply, smiling. “We thought we were so damn cool. I remember that night. Didn’t we get into a big brawl with the headliners?”

“Those guys were fucking dicks. They were jealous ‘cuz the crowd liked our set better.” Perconte nodded, chuckling at the memories. ‘Easy Company Trooper’ had been renowned in the Bay Area for their incessant fighting almost as much as their music. Most of it was initiated by Liebgott.

“Those were the days!” He sat up, smoothing his hair down and checking his watch. “We should leave in a bit.”

Liebgott checked his phone for the time.

“Yeah.”

They had both booked tickets that night to see a well-reviewed comedy show that coincidentally happened to be travelling to Berkeley that night. The same comedy show that had a certain George Luz, stand up and impersonator extraordinaire, on their regular roster.

* * *

 

“Jesus, why’d ya have to wear that, Lieb?” Liebgott looked down at his outfit, a dark wash denim jacket, black button up and black jeans with dark brown boots. It wasn’t anything he wouldn’t normally wear for a slightly formal occasion.

“What?”

“Your shirt is so fucking low I can almost see your nipple.” 

“You’re just riled ‘cuz the skirts like it.” Liebgott jeered.

“Fat lot of good that is to you. Leave the skirts to me, okay?”

“Alright, my miniature Don Juan.” Perconte scowled in response as they entered the comedy club, walking through the velvet embossed hallway to the small theatre area.

“Nice necklace, by the way. Very fancy.”

“It’s a Star Of David, actually.”

“Whatever, man.” They sat down at their assigned places, Perconte mumbling ‘shoulda told me we were dressing up’ in a disgruntled manner. The show began with a mediocre comedian who kept flubbing his lines. To be honest, Liebgott and Perconte probably shouldn’t have sat in the front row. Their unimpressed faces seemed to be throwing the guy seriously off his game; he kept glancing at them nervously, visibly threatened. He finally got a small, mean laugh from Liebgott for his troubles when he stumbled a bit on his way off stage. Next up was the main event, George Luz, the man who everyone had been waiting for. He got quite a cheer when announced. Perconte raised his eyebrows at Liebgott, mouthing ‘ooh la la’ as Luz took to the stage.

Luz had cut his hair so it no longer hung all over his face. It used to get in his eyes as he played guitar. He’d shaved off his ‘ironic’ moustache as well, thank god. Apart from that, he looked pretty much like he had before, just more filled out and adult. Same old cheeky grin and lazy looking eyes. He approached the mike, slightly laughing at the reaction of the crowd.

“Oh wow, thanks. It’s fantastic to be back in Berkeley. ” He managed to make even that sound sarcastic. Luz cast his eyes over the audience, finally locking on to Liebgott and Perconte.

“What the…” His face transformed into an enormous smile.”Ladies and gentlemen, I have some old friends in the house tonight!”

“Nooo.” Groaned Perconte as Luz’s face lit up with evil glee. “What’s he doing?” Luz gestured to the lighting crew and Liebgott and Perconte found themselves bathed in a spotlight.

“Joe, Frank, welcome! Nice to see your ugly mugs finally deigned to grace one of my shows with your presence!” He focused back on the audience. “Hey, do any of you remember a little band called ‘Easy Company Troopers’?” A selection of the audience whooped in recognition. Perconte cringed and Luz seemed to grow even more amused. He continued, relentless. “Ever go to see them play? If so you’ll remember Joe, our lead singer. You may have even got in a tussle with him, he’s had a fist fight with pretty much every guy in town.” Liebgott laughed, leaning back in his chair, cracking his knuckles. “And our drummer, Perconte. I think you got even shorter. I can barely see you. Shoulda picked up a booster seat on your way in.”

“Fucker.” Hissed Perconte, under his breath, but Joe could see he was smiling despite himself. There was nothing that Luz used to like more than poking fun at Frank, especially when Frank did or said something remarkably dumb, as he was often apt to do.

“I gotta tell you a funny story about Perconte.” Perconte shook his head and placed it into his hands, He knew what was coming.  “This guy is the only guy I’ve ever known who’s legitimately been in a very dangerous situation.  Now, I don’t run with a very rough crowd, as you can imagine, but Frank here, he used to be a real gang-banger, ‘aint that right, Perco?” The crowd tittered in anticipation. “So Perconte, he’s just a kid, right? He and a gang of friends are playing down an alley and what do they find? A motherfucking gun! No joke. So what do you think he did with it? Turned it into the police?  Not a chance. This tough guy, he takes it and sticks it in the back of his pants like a real thug.” Liebgott and Perconte were both leaning into each other, chuckling. “I think he forgot about it. He’s walking around, puts his hand down his pants to scratch his ass or something, and what do you think happened? The gun’s still fucking loaded. He shot himself in the ass. Thank god he didn’t put it down the front or he’d be singing soprano right now. Is that how it went down, Frank?”

Perconte, face screwed up with laughter, nodded jerkily. He still had the scar. Liebgott had seen it many, many times, all unsolicited occasions. Not any members of the band had been above indecent exposure when enough drinks had been sunk. It used to get them into a lot of trouble at the venues they played.

“He told everyone that he’d been in a shootout. But no, this man has actually shot himself in the ass. That kind of fuck-uppery cannot be topped. Congrats, dude.”

Slapped on the back by Liebgott, Perconte, ever the good sport,  stood up and took a clumsy bow to the great amusement of the crowd.

After the successful show, Luz settled at the bar area with Liebgott and Perconte.

“Thanks for coming. I got a lot of great material out of ribbing you.”

“Ritual humiliation wasn’t the only thing we turned up for, you know.”

“Oh really?” Luz raised his eyebrows at them over his beer.

“We have a proposition for you.” Liebgott nodded solemnly.

“I don’t want to have a threesome with you. Joe, maybe, he seems like he’d be wild, but you’re a deal-breaker Frank.” Luz deadpanned then snorted at his own joke.

“Ha ha, very funny.”

“What’s wrong with me?”

“Shut up, Frank. This is serious.” Luz sobered.

“Okay, lay it on me. I’m ready.” He smoothed down the front of his shirt.

“ How would you feel about starting the band up again?” Luz stared at them both curiously then began to splutter with laughter, shaking his finger at them.

“I knew you two were up to some kind of shit.”

“Well, what do you say?”

“Fuck, I’d love it. Sign me up. Let’s do it.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

**MALARKEY**

It was a Sunday, the record store was closed and the air was gloomy. Luz, Perconte and Liebgott were all stood, smoking a cigarette on Joe’s fire escape.

“This is gonna be fucking hard.” Remarked Luz. The others nodded glumly in agreement.

Liebgott had taken the bands break up pretty badly. He had admitted as much. He had refused to talk about it with people, became incensed at its mention, sometimes drank a bit too much and got in fights if he thought too much about all that wasted potential, but he still enjoyed music and got on with his life. He still lived above the record shop, for fucks sake, he never divorced himself from the whole thing completely. Luckily he’d met someone who gave him a bit of hope and sparked a change, which was a cliché and so fucking sappy it made him want to go bang his head against the wall. He hoped Web never found out he was the reason for all this. He sure as shit wasn’t going to tell him.

Another person who had been hit hard was Nixon. Nixon had built the record store, the subsequent record label and the band from the ground up. He was their manager and their producer, fronting them all the money they needed and booking all their shows. When the label collapsed after being bought out by a mainstream company and the store was almost bankrupted, he had been distraught.  He had escaped to Europe, ruined an important relationship in the process, before coming back to live in San Francisco with his tail between his legs and now drank his life away.

The person who took the whole thing the hardest had been Malarkey. Poor old Malarkey, their good-natured pianist. The whole ordeal with ‘Easy Company Troopers’ had caused a major rift in his life. The same mainstream company that ruined them had bought out their two best sound engineers, Skip Muck and Penkala, previously Malarkey’s best friends and roommates. They had agreed to go with them.  This ‘betrayal’ ignited a huge fight between them which ended with Skip and Penk leaving for London, their new home with the major label, and Malarkey vowing never to speak to them again. It made him bitter and lonely. He actively avoided everything to do with the band. Liebgott had kept up a tiny bit of contact with the two other guys, but not with Malarkey. Only Luz knew his address.

They resolved to drive out to him in Luz’s beat up old Volvo, Liebgott claiming shotgun, leaving Perconte to grouse in the backseat.  They blasted all the stuff they used to like, ‘Pulp’ and ‘Queens Of The Stone Age’ on the car stereo, bantering and shooting shit.

“Hey Luz?” Perconte shouted over the music. “You get laid much? Chicks like comedians as much as musicians?”

Luz just smirked lazily “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“How about you Lieb? Any guys on the horizon?”

Liebgott grinned, cigarette in between his teeth.

“Maybe.” Perconte and Luz both chorused ‘ooooh’ like schoolgirls.

“What’s his name, Joe?”

“David.”

“How’d ya meet him?”

“He’s a groupie.” Liebgott snorted, shaking his head at himself, embarrassed by how much he was smiling.

“You’re still getting groupies? You lucky bastard. How you always had the best game out of us I will never know. Now pass us a smoke, will ya?”

The mood became more sombre as they approached Malarkey’s small bungalow, tucked away on the suburban edge of town.

“Jesus, I don’t wanna knock.” Breathed Perconte.  Liebgott shrugged, trying to throw off his unease.

“We gotta do it.” They exited the car and trailed towards the blue door of Malarkey’s house. Luz stepped forward and rapped on the door smartly, the sound echoing.

There was silence, and then the door slowly opened. Malarkey was dressed in track pants and a tee-shirt, his eyes wide with shock and recognition. He had always been clean shaven, but now a scrubby, messy beard covered his chin and his bright red hair was messy and unkempt.

“Oh.” He said. He was looking at them with less kindness than if they had been a trio of Jehovah’s Witnesses on his doorstep, eager to spread the good word.  They all schooled their faces into pathetically weak, insipid smiles.

“Heeey Malark.”

“How are you, buddy?”

Malarkey stared at them for a moment, mouth in a firm pale line. He looked nothing like the carefree, laughing young guy who used to take joyrides on stolen motorbikes.

“I’m surprised.”

“Haha. Yeah.” Awkward silence endured before Malarkey sighed deeply, rubbing at his tired eyes.

“I suppose I should invite you in.”

Liebgott, Luz and Perconte all squeezed uncomfortably onto Malarkeys worn out cord loveseat. Malarkey stood, eying them with suspicion. He finally spoke again.

“This is about the band, isn’t it?” They nodded guiltily. Malarkey crossed his arms and gazed into the middle distance. They waited for the rejection.

“Fine.”

“Huh?”

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

“You don’t even know-“

Malarkey angrily interrupted him, his voice scathing.

“You’re reforming aren’t you?” They nodded again, heads hanging like naughty children. “Well I sure as hell aren’t letting you idiots do it without me.”

“Are you sure it’s a good idea?” Luz asked tentatively, treating Malarkey with the gentle touch of a bomb diffuser. Malarkey breathed and seemed to let all the knotted tension out of his chest, visibly deflating. His eyes retained their sadness, but he managed a small smile.

“I think so.”

* * *

 

Going to The Battalion in the afternoon on a Sunday used to be an ‘Easy Company Troopers’ tradition, and Liebgott was very glad to resurrect it. Everyone there seemed thrilled to see them all together, reunited at long last. Johnny and Bull, the bouncers, hoisted Perconte up into the air in glee and Luz made a beeline for Lipton, one of his favourite people in the world, to tell him the good news. Lipton grinned with pleasure, slinging an arm around them and declaring that their meal would be on the house, which raised a loud cheer. Joe Toye even came out of the kitchen personally to hand them their meal, laughing low at Luz’s wisecracks. Roe poured them out shots, offering them a quiet smile.

“Gene, Eugene!”

Babe, who had rushed over to congratulate Joe and very weirdly attempted to embrace him, was at one of the tables with about three grinning university buddies. They all had their laptops out and were ordering countless cokes. They were supposedly having a study session, their dorms apparently too small to hold one and the library ‘too boring’, but seemed to be doing nothing but playing music to each other and cracking jokes or joining in with Easy’s festivities. Babe’s cackling laugh could be heard all around the establishment. They were a very cheerful lot.

Roe looked over from the bar when he was called, one eyebrow raised.

“Do you like dinosaurs?” Roe frowned in confusion. One of the other guys, big smile on his face began to pipe up.

“Babe’s obsessed with seeing that new Jurassic Park film. Maybe you guys should – “ He stopped abruptly as Babe elbowed him heavily in the stomach.

Roe returned his focus to his cash register.

“Aint seen it.” He finally replied in his low Louisiana tones.

“Well the new one isn’t out yet!”

“No. Any of ‘em.”

Babe began to splutter with surprise.

“What?? Are you shitting me?” Babe looked aghast. Joe noticed Roe was hiding a twisted up smile as he walked to the backroom, leaving Babe loudly voicing his disbelief to his equally stunned buddies.

Shaking his head at the scene, Joe turned back to his table, where Luz was patting a slumped Malarkey on the back.

“Look man, I know this is your depression beard and you’re really down in the dumps but I’ve gotta say, this is probably the best you’ve ever looked!”

“Yeah, seriously, despair really works for you.”

Malarkey cracked a rare smile, finally looking more like his old self. He flexed his bicep half heartedly.

“I’ve been working out too.”

Luz grabbed him by the upper arm.

“Yeah man, we can tell! Damn, you got a licence for them guns?” Perconte flopped down next to them, returning from a quest to find and bother Smokey, the sous chef.

“Is all you do work out and cry?” Perconte was now also pawing at Malarkey’s arm. He was letting them manhandle him like a rag doll, reluctant smile on his face.

“He cranks. All day. All night.” Liebgott added with a smirk.

“Shut the fuck up.” Malarkey attempted to scowl before all four of them collapsed into laughter.

It felt good to be back.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Ayyyy i love a good reunion!
> 
> Sorry this was less romantic, more bro-ey. I like bro-ey tingz. Will get back to romantic tingz shortly.
> 
> I had to somehow mention Malarkey's surprisingly muscular arms. They always get me with every re-watch. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
